


Things

by yeaka



Series: Nevrast [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-24 11:10:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21098513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: They stop for souvenirs.





	Things

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Silmarillion or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

There are cities where the shops all blur together, large but crammed up close and littered with cheap plastic that they could easily find anywhere else. Then there are little seaside towns with the same useless trinkets, but the signs have more charm, and Voronwë has an eye for anything that speaks of the ocean. Tuor can see his gaze following each tourist stop they pass, until Tuor makes the executive decision: “I think we should stop here.”

“Should we?” Voronwë murmurs, his eyes across the street on a brightly painted building. There’s absolutely no traffic anywhere, so Tuor risks making a sharp turn. He pulls up to the curb, the nearest car three spaces off. It’s much easier to drive in smaller towns, but it’s also more tempting to get out and stretch his legs. As soon as the car pulls to a stop, Tuor pops his seatbelt. 

Voronwë looks curiously over at him, then gets out too. He never seems to need the break like Tuor does, but he doesn’t complain at Tuor’s constant stopping either. To be fair, Tuor does most of the driving, and that’s more trying, while Voronwë sits in the passenger seat and reads the map. They’ll make it to their destination eventually.

They won’t make it any time soon, so they might as well have fun along the way. There’s a coffee shop and a used bookstore bracketing the tourist shop that Tuor will likely check as well. But he starts with the one Voronwë seems interested in.

They wander in together, smiling at the little old woman that sits behind the counter and then randomly branching out. The shop is a mismatch of every sort of trinket imaginable, some themed for the country and others for the town, much for the sea, which is perfect. Tuor watches Voronwë gravitate towards a set of coffee cups with different tropical fishes painted across them. They’re not practical for the road, but they won’t be drinking out of travel mugs forever. 

When Voronwë glances at him, Tuor pretends to be checking out some rubber alligators. But really, he’s just hovering around his navigator. Voronwë must know it, because he dons that sly smile that always makes him look particularly cute. He doesn’t say anything about it though. 

The shopkeeper croaks, “Can I help you boys with anything?”

Voronwë doesn’t answer, because she’s clearly mortal, and that makes her Tuor’s responsibility. He answers for them, “No thank you, Ma’am. We’re just looking.”

“Alright. Well, I’ll be here if you need anything...” She looks back down at the magazine sprawled across the counter, boasting of the latest celebrity breakups. Voronwë walks slowly along the wall, then stops at a display of mood-rings that probably never sell to anybody older than seven.

Voronwë eyes them a while anyway, then the necklaces hanging over them. The nicest is by far a thin silver chain with a whale-shaped pendant made of blown glass. Voronwë even lifts his palm to cradle the whale, which he strokes with his thumb, humming thoughtfully. Tuor can see the telltale twinkle in his eyes. But eventually he steps back and decides, “I think I am alright for now.”

“Coffee?” Tuor suggests, because now that he’s out in the open air, he doesn’t want to cram back into the car so soon. Voronwë smiles and walks out. For once, Tuor doesn’t follow. 

He takes the necklace over to the counter, where the lady punches in the price and coos, “What a smart pick. Is this for your girlfriend?”

“No,” Tuor answers honestly, fishing out the change. “My guide.” 

The lady gives him a puzzled look and the necklace wrapped in tissue paper. Tuor stuffs it in his pocket for a later date when the surprise will mean more.

Then he joins Voronwë on the sidewalk and mirrors his smile.


End file.
